Let Us Not Repeat (The Easy Lies about Eternity and Love)
by jozivabellepattersonfan
Summary: Three months have passed since Jo found that old photograph. Three months, damn it, and she's done waiting for Henry to decide she's worth the truth. But when she pushes too hard, he might be lost to her forever.
1. Chapter 1

_Let us not repeat the easy lies about eternity_

 _and love. We have fallen out of love_

 _before – like children surpassing_

 _the borders of their beds, woken_

 _by gravity, the suddenness of tiles._

 _So it is we have opened our eyes_

 _in the dark, found ourselves far_

 _from all that was safe and soft._

 _So it is we have nursed red bruises._

 _If we are amazed at anything let it be this:_

 _not that we have fallen from love,_

 _but that we were always resurrected_

 _into it, like children who climb sweetly_

 _back into bed._

 _Kei Miller – "Epilogue"_

* * *

Jo considered herself a patient woman. She had known for a year that there was something, well, _odd_ about Henry Morgan. He knew things that no ordinary person could possibly know – his breadth of historical knowledge, coupled with his extensive insight into the human body, made no sense. No number of books read or unique facets of life experienced could make him that much of a genius. It just wasn't plausible.

She'd known that for a year, but she had waited, patiently believing that Henry was bound to reveal his secret eventually. He'd made it clear, many times, in crisis and outside it, that he trusted her. He frequently sought her out for companionship. They spent more time together than Jo ever had with anyone but her immediate family, Hanson, and Sean. She genuinely liked Henry Morgan. His quirkiness and hers just fit. She wanted to know him better. In particular, she was interested in how his lips would feel against hers.

But her patience was running out, and God help her, if he didn't tell her what the hell that old picture of him was about soon, she was going to punch something. Possibly him. Probably him.

It had been months. _Months_ , damnit, and he still hadn't told her a thing. Yes, it was true that immediately after she showed up on his doorstep, Hanson had called about a homicide. But Henry had promised to fill her in after the case was closed. Abe had assured her that he would hold Henry to it.

And yet, it was early September, and Henry's secret remained a secret. It was driving her mad.

Mad enough that it was close to eleven p.m., and she was sitting in a borrowed unmarked police car across the street from Abe's Antiques, waiting for Henry to emerge and do... something. Anything. It didn't really matter. She just wanted, needed, _some_ hint of _something_ that would lead her to the truth.

The lights inside the shop flickered out, and Jo sighed. It was going to be another fruitless stakeout, another sleepless night spent feeling guilty about her invasion of her partner's privacy...

Wait.

The door of the shop opened, and Henry appeared. He straightened his scarf, locked the door, and headed down the street.

"Where are you going, Henry?" Jo muttered under her breath, watching him saunter along the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, like he didn't have a care in the world. And maybe he didn't. Maybe that picture was just a stupid prank.

But Henry wouldn't play out a prank like this for months, knowing it was upsetting her. Resolve settled in her gut. Henry was breaking his routine tonight. It meant something.

As quietly as she could, she got out of the car, shut the door, and followed him down the street, keeping to the shadows of the far sidewalk. Knowing Henry's powers of observation – another thing she intended to interrogate him about – she switched up her gait, limping slightly on her left side. She kept her phone in her right hand, playing a game of Candy Crush with about one-eighth of her attention. Her hair was already in a braid down her back, and she'd snagged a pair of glasses from the evidence locker. If Henry recognized her under all of that from across the street in the dark, she'd have to assume that he had enhanced sight on top of everything else.

After a few blocks, Henry turned onto a side street. Jo gave him thirty seconds' head start before she did the same.

Years of detective work kept her from reacting when she saw that Henry was no longer alone. He was walking with a woman she didn't recognize, and they were speaking with their heads close together. She swallowed her dismay at their proximity and forced herself to observe what she could about the woman at this distance. She was tall, taller than Henry by a few inches, although that was at least partially attributed to the heels she was wearing. Her clothing was unremarkable – jeans and a long jacket that reached mid-thigh. She couldn't tell the color of her hair in the dim light, but it appeared to be pulled back in a high ponytail.

What really stuck out to Jo was just how comfortable the two of them seemed together. Henry's hands were still in his pockets, as were the strange woman's, but she could tell from his wry smiles and the way she occasionally nudged his arm that they knew each other well. When Henry took a step in front of her, turned to face her, and stopped, it was like a punch to the gut. Jo didn't know how many times he'd used that move on her when he wanted to tell her something important.

He had never taken her face in his hands and leaned in for a kiss, however.

Jo abruptly turned back the way she'd came, losing her limp and replacing her phone in her pocket. So that was why Henry hadn't told her anything. He was seeing someone else, and she'd been a fool to assume that he was still interested in her. If he was, he would have explained that damn picture already.

Well, that was too bad, Henry Morgan. Detective Jo Martinez wasn't about to be deterred from her mission, and she had other ways to find her answers – ways that didn't require her to stalk her partner's apparent new girlfriend.

Within minutes, she had picked the lock on the antique shop's door and made her way down to his basement lair. Henry would clearly be occupied for a while, and if she was going to find answers anywhere but the horse's mouth, it would be here. Using the light from her cell phone, she began to search through drawers and shelves. She was going to solve this damn mystery if she had to go through everything in this creepy basement piece by piece.

* * *

 _Woo, first story in a long while! Hello again, friends! I hope you enjoy my new take on how that conversation at the end of 1x22 went. I'm still working on the end of this story - I know what I want to happen but I'm having trouble getting there. I'm hoping that posting this will jump-start my creativity. Let me know what you think!_

 _Also, I ran across Kai Miller's poem and decided it fit Jo and Henry perfectly. It quickly became the title and inspiration for my story._


	2. Chapter 2

Jo's tennis shoes made almost no sound in the otherwise silent basement of the antique shop. She went quietly from shelf to drawer to box, hunting for something, anything, that would explain the old picture of Henry she'd found in the subway. Skulls, knives, bones, tools, pages and pages of notes – all of it was decidedly weird, but not conclusive.

Voices startled her from her search.

"You know, I have a collection of Sharpies in the morgue–"

"Do you have a death wish, kid?"

"It would appear that she needs the rest."

Slowly, she opened her eyes.

Hanson, Henry, and Lucas were crowded around her desk, staring down at her. She lifted her head from her arms to glare at them. "Did I hear something about Sharpies?"

"No," Lucas said hurriedly. "Definitely not. That would be a childish joke that we would never consider, ever, because we're not, you know, children."

"Right." She blinked a few times and sat up. "How long was I asleep?"

"Long enough that I was considering blackmail photos," Hanson replied with a grin. "Late night?"

"You could say that." Jo ran a hand through her hair. "You have an update for us, Henry?"

"That I do, Detective." He hesitated. "Do you need a moment, or–"

"The update, please," she said, raising her eyebrows at him. He nodded.

"Of course." Placing an envelope on her desk, he launched into a lengthy explanation about the chemical he'd found under their victim's fingernails. Jo fiddled with her empty coffee cup, half-listening to his dramatics, thinking about what she'd found in the past three nights of rooting through his basement. Or rather, what she hadn't found.

After some deliberation, she'd decided to go through the objects in his basement first, then take an overview of his notes. She'd wanted to go through his notes first, but she suspected that he used them more often and would notice if they were moved. Unfortunately, almost all of the objects were a complete mystery to her.

"Jo? Are you all right?"

She shook her head and smiled at Henry. "I'm fine."

"Well, I think we ought to start with Todd Jennings's cousin, Roger," he said. "His work at the processing plant would give him access to the chemical we found."

"But what would be his motive?" Hanson wondered. "From what I can tell, he seems like a decent guy. Not the brightest bulb in the box, but pretty normal."

"That's why they call us 'detectives,'" Jo teased. "Let's go detect." Getting to her feet, she stretched her arms behind her and beckoned to Henry. "You coming?"

His eyes lit up with the warmth he seemed to reserve especially for her. Or not, she mused, picturing the woman she'd seen him with three nights in a row. "Lucas, will you please ensure–"

"–that the DNA results are catalogued as soon as they come in? On it, boss." Lucas gave him a lazy salute and meandered towards the elevator. Hanson followed, muttering something about checking out the crime scene again.

Jo pulled on her coat, checked that her weapon was secure at her waist, and fell into step with Henry. "So did you have a late night?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Not really. Just having trouble sleeping, I guess."

"I know some excellent remedies for insomnia," he told her eagerly. "Did you know that sugary foods like cookies or cupcakes can actually act as a sedative?"

He continued to regale her with increasingly off-the-wall insomnia cures as they made their slow way through midday traffic. Jo tapped her fingers on the steering wheel and stared at the cars in front of them, thinking about where she'd left off in his basement. She had one more box she wanted to go through before she started taking pictures of his notes to peruse at home.

Hold on.

She turned to Henry. "Did you just say that howling like a lonely Beagle can help you sleep at night?"

He grinned at her. "I was wondering how long it would take for you to tune in again."

Jo huffed out a laugh. "Sorry. I'm distracted, I guess. Just thinking about the case."

"Are you quite sure you're all right, Detective?" he asked, putting a hand on her arm. "Pardon me for saying it, but you've seemed distracted all week."

He'd put a hand on his mystery girlfriend's arm just last night, and it had led to a make-out session against the wall of an old Chinese restaurant. Jo felt herself tense. She could tell he felt it, too, because he quickly removed his hand.

"Jo?"

"I'm fine," she told him, turning a corner and gesturing towards an office complex. "Here we are. Roger Jennings's boss said he goes between the plant and the office, but that he'd be here all day, making calls and getting things ready for the next shipment."

"Jo," Henry tried again as she parked along the street. "Please, talk to me. What's wrong?"

"I told you, I'm fine." She got out of the car and headed towards the building without waiting for him. She couldn't deal with this right now – she had to focus on the case. Someone had been murdered, and as much as she hated it at this moment, that trumped her curiosity about an old photograph of Henry Morgan.

"What do you know about Roger Jennings?" Henry asked as he caught up to her in the lobby. She relaxed a bit, grateful that he was talking about the case.

"Well, he and his cousin seemed to get along well. They were close to the same age, they went into similar lines of work, they even got married around the same time."

"But?"

"But he's in some debt," she continued, loving the way he waited for her to finish with his head tilted a little to the side. "And besides our victim's wife, Roger stands to inherit the most from his cousin's will. So there's some potential motive there. Not much to go on, but it's a start."

"Henry?"

He nearly jumped when his name was called from one of the offices. When Jo saw who had said his name, she wanted to jump herself.

It was the mystery woman.

"Camelia," Henry breathed.

As she came out to greet them, his shock turned into a smile. "Camelia! I wasn't expecting to see you here."

She gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Always expect the unexpected, darling," she replied. The lilt in her voice suggested that this was an inside joke. "And who is this?" she asked, turning her gaze to Jo, her smile fading a little.

"Detective Jo Martinez, I'd like to introduce you to my – girlfriend, Camelia Reed." His pause before saying "girlfriend" was not lost on Jo, though she pretended not to notice as she shook Camelia's hand.

"Ah, so you're here for work," Camelia said, returning her attention to Henry. Jo took the opportunity to study her. Even with shorter heels on today, she was still an inch taller than Henry. Her dark blonde hair fell just above her shoulders. Her carefully manicured hand rested on Henry's chest as they talked. "Has there been a murder?"

"There has indeed. I assume you're also here for work?"

"You assume correctly, although it would be so lovely if I wasn't busy so I could watch you work," she said, resting her head on his shoulder for a moment. "We're considering investing in the company. My supervisor sent me over."

"Well, we shall leave you to it, then." Henry kissed her on the lips, which surprised Jo. He wasn't usually that comfortable with public displays of affection – not on the job, at least.

"See you tonight?" Camelia asked.

"Of course."

"Nice to meet you, Detective Martinez," she said with a nod before returning to the office. Jo waited until the door was closed to turn on Henry and poke him in the chest.

"Henry Morgan! When were you going to tell me?" she demanded, raising her eyebrows with a grin that she hoped didn't seem forced.

He held up his hands. "We've only been dating for a week," he assured her. "We wanted to keep it just between us for a while."

"Not from what I just saw," she teased. "I want details, mister. How did you two meet?"

"She came into the shop to purchase a silver serving tray," he said stiffly. "We hit it off, and last week we made it official." He gestured down the hall and changed the subject. "Shall we go meet with Roger?" he asked. "You may interrogate me about Camelia later."

"I'll hold you to that."

Their interview with Roger Jennings was short. This time, it was Henry who seemed distracted, and not in his usual I'll-just-be-over-here-waiting-for-my-big-reveal kind of way. It didn't take Jo long to realize that Mr. Jennings couldn't be their murderer. His cousin had been killed with a shovel, and he struggled to lift his stapler. He had nerve damage in both of his wrists, he explained, showing them the voice-to-text program he used to type. However, he struck Jo as a shifty character; he couldn't meet her eyes, and he had a soft alibi. He claimed to have been at home, asleep, at the time of the murder, but his wife had been out of town, and there was no one to corroborate his story.

"Well, he didn't commit the act," Jo commented on their way out. "Doesn't mean he didn't hire someone, though."

When Henry didn't reply, she looked over at him. He was staring towards the office Camelia had been in earlier. It sat empty now.

"Henry?"

He glanced at her. "Hm?"

"I think this is where I'm supposed to say something about a lonely Beagle."

He shook his head. "Sorry. What were you saying?"

Jo sighed. "Just that he couldn't have been the killer. He could've hired someone, though."

They got into her cruiser, and Jo was about to buckle her seatbelt when Henry put his hand on her arm again. This time, when she tensed, he didn't pull away.

"Would you care to tell me why Camelia's appearance startled you so much?" he asked quietly.

She shifted so she could look him in the eyes. "Would you like to explain the _real_ reason you haven't mentioned her?" she retorted.

Neither of them said anything for a moment. Finally, Jo told him, "Partners don't keep secrets, Henry. That's why Hanson and I work so well together. I know about the time Mike ran off for two days after Bobby was born. He knows that Sean and I almost got married in Vegas six months before our wedding. We talk to each other. We trust each other."

She didn't say it, but she hoped the implication was clear: I can't trust you, because you're keeping secrets from me.

"I wanted to tell you." Henry removed his hand from her arm and looked away. "But I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"It's a long story."

"Everything is a long story with you. I've come to expect it."

There was a long silence. Jo was really beginning to wonder what the hell was going on when her phone rang. It was Hanson, of course. "Hey, Mike."

"Are you still at Jennings's office?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I think he did it."

"He couldn't have," Jo said, putting the phone on speaker. "He's got nerve damage. He doesn't have the strength."

"He hired someone, then. Look, Lucas and I went to the crime scene–"

She cut him off. "Sorry, did you say you took _Lucas_ to the crime scene?"

"He begged," Hanson replied. "You know I can't resist those puppy dog eyes. Anyway, he says that he found more of the chemical both on the shovel that killed Todd Jennings _and_ on the bedroom door."

"How'd forensics miss it?" Jo asked.

For a moment, all they could hear were muffled voices. Then Hanson said clearly, "It wasn't on the door itself, he says. It was to the right of the door, and it was a very small amount. Like someone'd stumbled and reached a hand back to steady themselves, just for a second."

Jo glanced up at Henry. His stoic expression had been replaced with one of wonder and enthusiasm. She could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. "Let us imagine, then, that Todd and Roger are talking in the bedroom. Roger is distracting his cousin long enough that the killer can get up behind him with the shovel."

Jo picked up the theory. "But Todd hears him, turns around, and gets in a good hit – enough to shove him back into the door and get the chemical from the plant under his fingernails."

"The killer recovers, hits him with the shovel, and kills him," Henry finished. "So now, all we have to do is wait for those DNA results–"

"Wait no longer, Doctor Morgan," Lucas added, speaking directly into the phone now. "We just received them. Apparently, the DNA on the shovel matches one Theodore Digger. Wow, can you get more on the nose?" When no one replied, he elaborated, "Come on. Digger? Killer who uses a shovel? Am I the only one seeing the–"

"We get it," Jo said.

"Right. Anyway, says here he's a worker at the plant. Roger Jennings's main foreman, actually."

"I'll go pick him up," Hanson informed them. "You two got Roger?"

"Yeah, we'll get him." Jo was about to hang up the phone when Lucas started talking again. She rolled her eyes at Henry, who graced her with the half-smile that meant he was just as amused as her.

"Hey, Henry, I see why you like getting into the field with Jo, I feel like Mike and I–"

"Mike?" Hanson put in.

"I feel like Detective Hanson and I have really bonded after making this discovery together," Lucas continued as though Hanson hadn't spoken. "Explains the two of you and your nearly telepathic connection, huh?"

Henry visibly flinched, and as Lucas rambled on about the likelihood of telepathy, Jo had to wonder… did she and Henry still have that connection she valued so highly?

The uncertain look in his eyes made her doubt it.

* * *

 _Another chapter up, yay. I think that posting and reading your comments is helping my creativity. :) While I love writing from Jo's perspective, my favorite person to write lines for is and always will be Lucas Wahl. What a guy. Expect more of that and a fun Lucas twist at the end because he's just great._

 _foreverHenry919 - thanks for your review! I remember reading that Matt Miller planned on introducing more immortals to the series, but I hadn't heard the idea that Henry would be dating one. Interesting note. I agree, a little odd for Jo to break into the shop, but I think it's more out of concern for Henry than anything, mixed in with a little jealousy and impatience._

 _KenH - thanks for your review! All good questions which will be answered in due time... ;)_


	3. Chapter 3

The double arrests, combined with double confessions, made for an early night. It was barely six o'clock when Jo and Henry walked out of the precinct together. "I will see you tomorrow, Detective," he told her cheerfully as he swung a leg over his bicycle. "Here's to an easy case, and may we have many more!"

She smiled at him and waved as he pedaled away. As soon as he was out of sight, her smile faded. "An easy case," she murmured to herself, heading towards her cruiser. "I wish _you_ were an easy case, Henry Morgan."

There had been no time to interrogate Henry about Camelia, but that was mostly due to the fact that Henry had stayed near Hanson or Lucas for the rest of the day. He'd claimed to be interested in Hanson's interrogation technique and Lucas's discovery of the chemical at the crime scene, and he probably was, to some extent. Was there anything the man _wasn't_ interested in? Well, sports. And modern music. And television shows. And movies.

Back to the point. Jo knew an avoidance technique when she saw one, and Henry was avoiding her. There was no doubt in her mind. Even as they walked out of the precinct, he had barely paused for breath, leaving her no opening in which to ask about his mysterious girlfriend. And now that Jo "officially" knew about her, she was desperate for information. It wasn't because Henry was dating her, she told herself firmly. It was because there was something _off_ about the woman. If everything was on the up-and-up, why wouldn't Henry have mentioned her?

If Henry stuck with his usual routine, he would spend time downstairs in the shop or upstairs in the loft with Abe until around eleven, then go to meet with Camelia. That gave Jo plenty of time to go home, eat a decent dinner, watch an episode of… oh, who was she kidding?

Thirty minutes later, she was eating a gyro from her favorite street vendor and watching Abe's Antiques from the rooftop across the street.

Henry did, indeed, follow his routine, meaning that Jo was stiff and shivering by the time he left the shop at eleven p.m. It was the work of a minute to pick the lock and sneak downstairs. She wasn't worried about Abe; the sound of his snores carried throughout the building. Using the light from her cell phone, she located the box she was interested in and began to take things out of it, carefully, making sure she knew how to pack the box up again so Henry wouldn't know that anything had been moved.

She pulled out a few items related to that two-hundred-year-old shipwreck. What was the name of the ship, the one Henry'd been so obsessed with? The _Empress of Africa_ , that was it. It looked like Henry had done some collecting after their case. No surprise there. She found a rusted pair of shackles, an old key, the magazine article about Isaac's findings, and what looked to be the original news report of the shipwreck, circa 1814.

" _Empress of Africa_ Lost at Sea," she read under her breath. "After six months of no contact, the Morgan Shipping Company regrets to announce the likely shipwreck of their cargo ship the _Empress of Africa_ and the deaths of all aboard. Among the presumed casualties is Doctor Henry Morgan, son of John Morgan, founder of the Morgan Shipping Company."

The article went on, but Jo wasn't interested in the rest – only in the accompanying photograph.

It was Henry. Clear as day, even wearing a scarf. There was no mistaking it. This wasn't some ancestor who shared his name – this was Henry, _her_ Henry.

What the hell was he doing in London in 1814?

More importantly, what the hell was he doing in New York City in 2015?

That picture, the one she'd found in the subway… she wasn't Henry, but she could guess from the clothing and the background that it was taken in New York City near the end of World War II. Unless Henry was some insane reenactor who took his fantasies way too far (which she wasn't ruling out), he had been in London in 1814, and in New York City around 1945, and now he was here in her time.

The door at the top of the stairs creaked open, letting in a sliver of light from the shop.

"I'll be back up in a moment, Camelia," she heard Henry call.

 _Shit!_

Jo ducked down behind the desk just before the lights flickered on, praying that Henry wouldn't notice the open box on the floor. She didn't dare try to hide it; he would surely notice the movement. She tucked her phone under her shirt to conceal the light and waited, barely breathing, for Henry to go back upstairs.

She glanced down at the article in her hand. The picture of Henry caught her gaze; his appearance was almost alarmingly the same, but his eyes… they were happier, less haunted.

"I'll have to remind Abraham not to go through my things," Henry said, almost making her jump before she realized he was talking to himself. "He always leaves the boxes open, despite the mice we get down here…" He bent over to pick up the box, and Jo resisted the urge to move farther under the desk. Something must have caught his attention, however; he paused, then crouched down and peered under the desk.

"Detective?"

Henry's eyes were wide with confusion. "What are you doing here, Detective?"

Well, if she wanted honesty from him, she had to start with it herself. She accepted Henry's hand up and brushed herself off before replying, "I was searching your basement."

"Okay," he said slowly. "May I ask why?"

"I wanted to find more information about that photograph from the subway," she told him flatly, meeting his eyes. "I decided this would be the most likely place."

His eyes traveled from the box on the floor to the article in her hand. He seemed to brace himself for a blow as he asked, "And have you found anything?"

"I don't know." She set the article on the desk. "Why don't you tell me?"

He shook his head, taking a step back. It looked to Jo like he was forcing himself into a different mood – from frightened to angry. "You come uninvited into my home, poking through my possessions without my permission, and you expect me to ignore that and tell you what you _think_ you need to know?" He crossed his arms across his chest. "No. You will have to do better than that."

"Fine. You want me to do better than that?" She picked up the article and pointed to the photograph. "I think this is you. I also think that I sound absolutely crazy, pointing to a photograph from 1814 and saying that it's my friend from 2015. But I can't think of any other explanation."

When he didn't respond, she continued, "And if this is you, then I think that other picture – the one from World War II era, maybe? That must be you, too. It's not an ancestor or a lookalike or some weird reenactment. It's you, in 1945 or 1946, with a woman who looks an awful lot like a young Sylvia Blake."

"Stop it," Henry snapped. "Stop. What are you even saying? Do you hear yourself? What you're describing is _impossible_. I never thought you'd be one to believe in fairy tales!"

"But it's not a fairy tale!" Jo insisted, hardly able to believe what she was saying. "It's the only thing that makes sense!"

"You think that makes sense?" He snatched the article from her hand and ripped it in two, letting the pieces fall to the floor. "I think you're insane!"

"The fact that you're reacting this way tells me that you're lying," she told him, trying desperately not to rise to his bait. "I told you this morning, Henry, partners don't keep secrets."

"Is that what you call sneaking into my basement in the middle of the night?" His eyes lit up with recognition. " _That's_ why you were so surprised to meet Camelia – not because you were surprised I had a girlfriend, but because you've seen her before. You've been watching me!"

"Yes, I have."

"I thought I could _trust_ you, Jo!"

"And I thought I could trust _you!_ " she snapped, finally losing control of her temper. "I thought we had something together! You promised me, you _swore_ that you were going to explain that photograph to me. It's been months, and not only have you not told me what the hell is with that photo, you've started keeping _more_ secrets from me."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Henry retorted. "I didn't realize that I was required to share every detail of my personal life with someone who isn't even technically my partner!"

That stung more than anything else he'd said so far. "Is that all I am?" she asked quietly. "Not technically your partner?"

He took a deep breath. "You're a wonderful detective to work with, Jo, and you've been a good friend to me. But I think that friendship is over, and I'll find a new line of work. Get out of my basement."

"No." She stepped forward again so that her face was just inches from Henry's, placing a hand on his chest. "I deserve better than this. _We_ deserve better than this. We've been through far too much to let things end this way."

"Darling?"

They jumped apart, but not before Camelia had a full view. Belatedly, Jo realized what it must have looked like. They'd been so close their noses were almost touching.

"Camelia," Henry said, hurrying over to her. "Jo was just leaving."

"I bet she was," she sneered as she came down the stairs. "So this is what you meant when you said you needed to do something quick. I didn't realize you meant some _one_."

"Camelia, no," Jo tried to protest. "That's not why I'm here."

"She was here without my permission, and now she is leaving–"

"I saw the way she looked at you earlier," Camelia said, cutting him off. "I told myself that it was one-sided, that you would never betray me like that. But here she is. And here you are."

"Camelia–"

"No, Henry. We're through, if this is how you're going to treat me! Enjoy your little side action," she said fiercely. With a final glare at Jo, she stomped up the stairs and was gone.

For a long moment, there was silence.

Then Henry turned to Jo. He was shaking – with anger or grief, she couldn't tell. "You don't know what you've done, Detective. Why couldn't you just leave well enough alone?" His voice rose a couple of octaves. "I was trying to _protect_ you!"

Jo, about to snap back an angry retort, paused. "Protect me?" she asked. "Protect me from _what?_ "

"Never mind that." He pointed towards the stairs. "Get out, Jo."

"Henry, what's going on? Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"Jo…"

She put a hand on his arm. "If you're in trouble, Henry, let me help you!"

"Damnit, Jo, just get out!" He tore his arm from her grip and turned his back on her, beginning to re-pack the box she'd opened. He slammed items into it with more force than necessary. Jo took a step towards him.

"Henry…"

"I said get out."

Jo got out, looking back just once to see Henry gently putting the pieces of the article back together.

* * *

 _Here's chapter three! Hopefully that seemed like a realistic confrontation. This was a hard scene to write because we so rarely saw Henry and Jo really go at it on the show, but obviously they're both under a lot of pressure here for different reasons. Jo is ticked off that Henry's keeping secrets after he promised to tell her the truth, and Henry, well... you'll have to wait to see why Henry's so upset.  
_

 _Passerby - thanks for your review! And don't you worry, I have plans for Camelia's character. She's definitely not just a one-off to create tension._

 _N3GatorFan - thanks for your review! I really wanted to portray the consequences of lies and secrets, because while Jo was patient for a long time, that doesn't mean she's going to continue to be that way forever (ha), especially when she thinks Henry might be in trouble._


End file.
